Forward
by starbuckmeggie
Summary: Josh tags along with Donna for her grandparents' anniversary in Wisconsin and gets a small taste of what her life was like before they met.


"So, what's good here?"

"Josh, it's a diner—nothing is good here, but it's all delicious."

He nods sagely, studying the menu like his life depends on it. "They serve breakfast all day?"

I rub my temples for a few moments before I sigh. "What does the menu say?"

He looks up at me, blinking a couple of times before looking back to the menu's cover. "Oh! So they do!"

"Why do you even care? You're not a huge breakfast food fan."

"Hey, I like it just fine. We just don't usually have the time in the morning for anything substantial." He pauses, squinting at the menu, and I shake my head just a little. He probably needs glasses. I keep trying to get him to an eye doctor—I've tried for years but something always comes up, real or fabricated. He thinks wearing glasses means he's getting old—somehow, all the kids and teenagers with glasses don't register with him. "What the…chicken and waffles? What the hell is that?"

Is he being purposely obtuse? "It's code. It's how the local mob bosses talk to each other." His forehead wrinkles into a million hills and valleys as he lifts his eyebrows. I touch my nose, bending it to the side a little. "I'm Italian, remember?"

"See, I'm like, ninety percent sure you're kidding."

"It's chicken and waffles, Josh. Fried chicken and waffle pieces with syrup. I promise there's no hidden meaning." Truthfully, I've never tried the combination myself, though I did see it on a few menus on my rapid tour across the country this past year.

"Sold!" he exclaims, closing his menu with a flourish. I'd like to harp on him about what the fried chicken will do to his arteries, but he seems to think that because we're "on vacation," anything goes. I've tried arguing that three days in Wisconsin is hardly a vacation, but he can be pretty obstinate. Besides, he's been jogging and working out lately, so at least there's a balance. He tells me he's trying to stay in shape to keep up with me, as it seems I wear him out.

I'm definitely proud of that part.

"So, did you come here a lot growing up?"

He's been full of questions since we got here and has had the opportunity to see my old stomping grounds up close. "Some. I didn't usually get up early enough during high school to get here before class, but some of us would hang out here after school. I did actually work here for a while, though."

"Oh, yeah? When?"

Open mouth, insert foot. "Uh, college." Something about being here this time has brought back a flood of memories that keep spilling out of me.

He doesn't seem to think anything of it, though, and just nods. "This is a nice placed you grew up in."

"What's the punch line?"

"There's no punch line."

"Josh, you just said something vaguely positive about Wisconsin, something you've never done before. I just figured there had to be some joke about cheese or dairy queens to follow up."

He grins at me, completely unabashed. "Sorry about that. I didn't expect Madison to be so much like a real city."

"You're such a snob."

"I don't deny this. But, hey, at least I'm _your_ snob."

"Lucky me," I answer, rolling my eyes even as a smile tugs at my lips. We're still kind of in that honeymoon stage of the relationship, even though it's been five months. I thought some of the bloom would have worn off the rose by now, especially because we've been unofficially living together since November and officially since last month, but this whole thing somehow keeps getting better and better. I haven't gotten sick of being around him yet, and he seems to still like spending time with me just as much as at the very beginning.

Even still, I was completely shocked when I mentioned that I was planning to come to Madison for my grandparents' anniversary party, and an hour later he had two tickets booked. I never expected that he'd want to come with me, nor would I have demanded it, but I'm so happy to have him here.

His foot nudges mine gently under the table and he grins, his eyes crinkling at the edges. I push my foot back against his, feeling my heart flutter. Sometimes it feels ridiculous that I have this reaction to him, but I like to chalk it up to years of suppressed feelings. Everything is heightened and intensified.

"Well, Wisconsin gave me you, so I guess I can't knock it too much."

I think my heart actually breaks loose and jumps around in my chest. It's so sweet and unexpected I can't bring myself to remind him that I'm technically from Michigan…or even more technically from Canada.

Our waitress shows up then, saving me from getting too sentimental on him, and I order my loaded to the gills egg white omelet. Josh orders his chicken and waffles, looking every inch like a little boy getting an extra scoop of ice cream, and I can't help but feel amused at how charmed the waitress seems to be. I don't think she recognizes him. His dimpled grin and mad-scientist hair really is a lethal combination, one he uses on me frequently since I, in a post-coital haze, mentioned just what it does to me. It seems others aren't immune to it. I have the briefest urge to mark my territory somehow—make sure this woman knows he's off limits—but the urge passes almost as quickly as it arrives. I have nothing to worry about with Josh, the same as he knows he can trust me. Our relationship may be relatively new, and we can both still have insecurities at times, but a random woman in the middle of a diner is no cause for concern, no matter how young and pretty she is.

She's barely walked away from the table when Josh makes a face, pulling his phone out of his pocket before I can ask. He sighs, looking at me ruefully. "I've got to take this. Do you…"

"Go," I answer immediately. I know there are a lot of parts of his job that don't end just because he's not at the office. Honestly, I was surprised he could come with me this weekend—during the Bartlet administration, it seemed like something always interrupted our free time. President Santos has been adamant about people having some sort of balance in their lives and does his level best to make sure that people are getting time off. There's no doubt the President takes his job seriously, and everyone puts in the hours we need to—hell, I'm still spending at least three or four hours a day in the West Wing after I'm done in the First Lady's office just to help everyone get situated and organized. It's not my job but I can't handle watching people struggle if I can help—but if at all possible, Josh and the President honor requests for time off. So, if Josh has to take a couple of calls, it's something I can live with, especially because it could literally be a matter of national security.

He smiles at me gratefully and pushes himself out of the booth, phone already to his ear as he walks outside. I pull my own notebook out of my bag—mostly, it's non-classified work stuff, ideas of causes and foundations to pursue, organizations to contact, the timetables we'll need to follow to get things accomplished, and copious amounts of notes about each, plus lists, spreadsheets, and pros and cons lists. The First Lady is still trying to get her feet wet with this whole thing and has definitely been feeling overwhelmed with her new position. Objectively, I realize that giving her this many options will only overwhelm her further, but I want to be prepared for everything. That's also why I'm mainly focusing on things like education, childcare, child development, healthcare, women's rights, things that will feel close to home for her so she'll feel comfortable talking about them. I figure once she realizes she has a voice and can make a difference, she'll feel more confident in learning about issues that don't directly affect her. I'd rather we take baby steps forward than giant leaps back.

I grab my cup of coffee and take a sip before diving into my work—I didn't actually bring the full file with me this trip, opting instead to bring information about a couple of broader topics that I could break down into subcategories, stuff that I feel particularly strongly about in the hope that my enthusiasm will be contagious.

I glance around the diner, tapping my pen against my notebook. It's a little amazing that nothing much has changed since I worked here a million years ago. There's still the row of grumpy old men nursing their senior citizen cups of coffee, though it's a new set of faces now. There are still older couples sitting in booths, nostalgic for their younger days. The waiters and waitresses still look frazzled, like they can't believe a greasy spoon hole-in-the-wall diner would be this busy all the time.

There's no one here I recognize, which feels a little odd. I know a lot of my high school classmates stayed in the area, and I would have figured that if I didn't run into someone here, it would have happened at some point while I was showing Josh around, but I haven't seen anyone. I suppose it's not that big of a deal, especially since I've fallen out of touch with just about everyone from those days. And I'm probably surrounded by my classmates' parents who look wildly unfamiliar at this point.

I sigh and go back to my notebook, flipping through several pages until I find where I left off, the neon colors of the highlighted words assaulting my eyes. Naturally, I left my package of highlighters at my parents' house this morning. Josh teased me while I complained about it; my dependency on color-coding everything has entertained him for years. I'll have to settle for underlining things now and highlighting later. I make myself tune out the chattering crowds and focus on reading.

"Donna?"

I blink to myself a few times as the sound of my name punctures my concentration, but it's not Josh's voice so it doesn't entirely register. I finish reading the last line of the paragraph, noting that I managed to get through a couple of pages already, though that means Josh is still on the phone.

"Donna Moss? Is that you?"

"In the flesh," I answer without looking up, underlining one last thing.

"How long has it been?"

I finally look up, taking in the person in front of me for a few long seconds as my brain tries to place how I know this guy. He's older—not old, but definitely older than I am—receding hair, thick-lens glasses, dressed in scrubs…

…Oh, my God. "Kyle?"

"Of course," he answers, that vaguely cocky attitude of his coming back to me in a rush. What is it with me and my attraction to arrogant men? At least Josh has the goods to back it up. "Who else would it be?"

I don't know how to answer that without coming across as hostile and bitter, so I don't bother. "I guess it's been a while."

"Almost ten years, I'd say."

Yeah, since the night he stopped off for a beer before picking me up at the hospital. I hate that I'm still bothered by it, though now it's more because that's no way to treat another human and less because I'm still hurt by him personally. "Yeah, I think so."

He slides into the seat across from me without invitation, and I literally bite my tongue to keep myself from saying anything. I should tell him…something, but I really don't want to cause a scene. I do, however, comfort myself with the knowledge that a few members of Josh's detail are nearby and, if I wanted to, I could ask one of them to remove him.

That's actually a really fun thought.

"What brings you to Madison? You're not still living here, right?"

"No, I haven't lived here in about a decade," I answer, sure he's thinking something about how I ran away because I couldn't handle being near him if I couldn't be with him. Kyle always has been a fan of revisionist history.

He smiles at me expectantly, but I really don't have much to say to him. I don't hate him—that's far too much effort—but I don't like him much. I know that he's not entirely to blame for what happened between us. I agreed to everything. I agreed to drop out of college and work to put him through med school. I can't help but fault him for encouraging it, though. It's a horrible thing to do to someone, especially an insecure nineteen-year-old. He preyed on my caring nature and my desire to be with someone who told me the things that just about any girl my age wanted to hear. Of course, to listen to him tell it at any point, it was all me. I threw myself at him, I offered to pay for him to go to school. It was all me. For a long time, I believed it, even after we broke up the first time. I even thought _that_ was my fault. I didn't support him enough, I didn't lighten his load enough. That's why I went back to him. Fortunately for me, by that point, the distance had helped me realize it wasn't all just on my end, and even if it had been, he never treated me very well. He certainly wasn't physically abusive, but his head games did a number on me anyway. It took a long time to see it, mostly because his words were usually couched in a nice tone, and sometimes preceded by something almost kind. It only took a few weeks on the Bartlet campaign to make me see that it was a disgusting way to treat someone…it only took a few weeks with Josh. Josh, who never treated me like an idiot, even though at that point, he had every reason to doubt me and my abilities. Josh, who spoke to me like an equal despite my lack of formal education. The whole damn campaign took me in and gave me a purpose and, hell, even said "Thank you" when I finished a task.

It's really no wonder that I fell head over heels in love with Josh way back then. Honestly, it probably would have been weird if I didn't. Coming out of the situation I'd been in, anyone would have fallen for the next person to treat them like, well, a person. I give myself a lot of credit for not throwing myself at him immediately. I suppose I thought it was something like the Florence Nightingale effect, or just hero worship. It took me a while to realize it wasn't going away—I legitimately fell in love with Josh within weeks of meeting him.

Kyle's still smiling at me blandly, waiting for me to say something but…I've got nothing. He invited himself into my booth, he can carry the conversation. "Well," he finally says, looking a little miffed. "I'm still in Madison."

"I see that."

He puffs out a little. "Once I finished my residency, the hospital begged me to stay."

It takes every ounce of strength I have not to roll my eyes. "I'm sure they did."

"Naturally," he adds.

"Naturally," I repeat. God, what an idiot I was. I mean, Josh can be a cocky bastard, too, but he genuinely has reason to be. He's gotten more than one person elected President. He's a well-respected political savant in the hub of national politics. He knows his shit. Kyle…well, he was frequently at the bottom of his classes in med school. My fault, of course. I "helped" him with his homework for a while, which translated into me doing the bulk of it for him while he rambled on about how he was going to be the most respected doctor in the country. I may not have been firing on all cylinders at that point in my life, but even then I knew me doing his school work wasn't doing him any favors. So, I started working two jobs, which was actually necessary to support us, and made him fend for himself with school. He was not thrilled. He was also no longer in the upper half of his class. That's not to say that I could have become a doctor at some point, and the classes he needed to take were falling outside the scope of my abilities, at least while I was unable to focus exclusively on studying. He's probably just okay enough of a doctor to stay employed, but I doubt anyone begged him to stay.

"I was at a conference in Chicago just a few days ago. It's lucky I'm even here to see you."

I feel my eyebrows shoot up—it's fascinating how he's suddenly managed to make it sound like I contacted him to meet up. "I'm just in town for my grandparents' anniversary. I'm leaving tomorrow."

"Oh, your grandparents! How are they? I haven't seen them in forever."

My eyes narrow at him just a little. "They're fine. Kyle…I don't recall you meeting my grandparents."

"I'm sure I must have. We were together for how many years?"

"Too many," I answer automatically, and he gives me that look that used to mean he'd latched onto something and was zeroing in for the kill.

"Oh, come on, Don—it wasn't all bad."

"I could see how you would think that."

"I treated you nice; kept a roof over your head, fed you."

I can't help it—I burst out laughing. "Oh, Kyle," I manage to choke out between guffaws. "That's the funniest thing I've heard in a long time. I needed that laugh."

He gives me his most indignant look. "What's so funny?"

He really is a piece of work. "If by kept a roof over my head and fed me you mean that _I_ worked two jobs almost nonstop for nearly five years, then sure."

"Well, that's not how I remember it."

"I'm not at all surprised," I tell him, wiping my eyes carefully.

The food shows up then and it's almost amusing to watch the waitress's dazzling smile—aimed in the direction she last saw Josh—fall as she realizes the man across from me is completely different. She gives me a puzzled look as she puts down my omelet, holding Josh's chicken and waffles awkwardly. "He'll be back in a minute," I reassure her, taking the heart attack-inducing food from her. "Thank you."

"Do you need anything else for right now?" she asks, trying not to give too odd of a look to Kyle. His mouth opens and I rush to answer.

"No, I'm fine. Thanks."

"Okay." She waves the check a little before putting it face down on the table. "I'm just going to leave this here in case, but you can add to it if you need anything. I'll be back to check on you in a bit."

Kyle gives me a look for the briefest of moments. "I didn't realize you were here with someone."

Dubiously, I look at the table and its two coffee cups and multiple sets of silverware, but it didn't directly affect him at the moment, I wouldn't be surprised if he actually didn't. "Okay," I manage to answer.

"One of your brothers?"

"No."

He nods, but doesn't seem to be listening. "So, you're a secretary? Is that what I heard?"

Ah, there he is. The old Kyle. The one who says something mean without saying something mean. Gaslighting son of a bitch. He may not have any idea what I've done with my life, he may have heard I was a secretary. He could have heard "assistant" and assumed that it was the same thing. The whole thing where I worked for the Deputy Chief of Staff to the President of the United States probably went over his head when he heard the part that would satisfy him. I suppose it's possible that he managed to miss me on TV as spokesperson for two presidential campaigns, especially since he's a fairly staunch republican and rarely wants to acknowledge another political viewpoint. Still, it was a dick thing to say, calculated to try and make me feel small and insignificant.

"I really couldn't say what you heard, Kyle," I answer honestly, taking another careful sip of my coffee.

He chuckles a little, but I think my lackadaisical attitude is starting to get to him. "Someone has her panties in a bunch. Did we wake up on the wrong side of the bed this morning?"

"What makes you think I'm even wearing panties?" I snark, unable to help myself.

He leans forward, lifting one eyebrow suggestively. "Donna, are you coming onto me?"

"As if," I answer, my vocabulary reverting back to my early nineties standard.

He makes another slight face, probably disappointed that he can't turn me down. "Sorry I called you a secretary."

…He's apologizing? Has hell frozen over?

"It's administrative assistant now, right? That's the PC expression?"

God, what an ass.

I look up as the door opens, happy to see Josh coming toward me. "Sorry about that," he says, shoving his phone in his pocket. "Sam's feeling needy this weekend." He goes to sit down and freezes as he almost lands on Kyle. "Oh, hey, man. Sorry." He shifts gears and sits down next to me, his eyes lighting up at his food.

"It just got here," I tell him. "Should be nice and hot."

"Awesome," he answers, dousing the entire thing in maple syrup. I can feel my face scrunching up—what a disgusting combination. He digs in with gusto, not at all concerned with stopping to make conversation with our "guest." Then again, not a lot gets between Josh and sweets when he's in the mood to indulge.

Kyle, for his part, looks somewhere between amused and annoyed—he really doesn't do well with being "ignored." "Someone you know?" he asks, trying to come across as light-hearted.

Josh pauses, lifting his head to stare at the interloper, as if he'd already forgotten about him. Knowing Josh, he probably had. He chews slowly for a few moments before swallowing, giving Kyle a discerning look. "No. Never met her before. Just thought the food looked good so I figured I'd help myself." He looks over at me, jerking his thumb toward my ex. "Who the hell is this guy?"

I can't help but smirk a little. "Josh, this is Kyle Willard. Kyle, this is Josh Lyman." There's not a flicker of recognition on either's face, but since I've never mentioned his name to Josh, that's not surprising. I did think Kyle would've recognized Josh's name, but, again, if it's not about himself, Kyle usually isn't interested.

Without acknowledging him yet, Josh points at my plate. "Is everything all right? Want me to grab the waitress?"

I smile. I bet she'd love that—being grabbed by Josh. I rest my hand on his thigh, squeezing reassuringly. "I just haven't started it yet. Thank you, though." He waits, though, to make sure all is well and I grab my utensils, digging into my omelet.

Satisfied, Josh sticks his hand across the table, giving Kyle's a perfunctory shake. "Nice to meet you, Kyle."

"Doctor."

We both look up at him, startled. "I'm sorry—what?"

"It's _Doctor_ ," Kyle says, trying to make himself look bashful, like he wasn't the one that brought it up. " _Doctor_ Kyle Willard."

Josh glances at me, his forehead crinkling. "Okay." Kyle stares at him expectantly. "So, what—is your first name 'Doctor'?"

Kyle laughs, though it sounds forced. "No, of course not."

"Would you prefer I call you Dr. Willard?"

"Completely unnecessary," he reassures, trying to regain the upper hand.

"Dr. Kyle?"

"No, that's unnecessary, too."

"So, nice to meet you, _Kyle_. Though a little less so now." He shovels another bite into his mouth, staring at Kyle while he chews. I just sit quietly and watch. I certainly don't need Josh to fight my battles for me, but this could be wildly entertaining. "Are we introducing ourselves through job titles now? Or did you just want to make sure I knew you were a doctor?"

Kyle's eyes grow comically wide. "Oh! Uh, no no no. That's just a force of habit," he stutters. The guy's not used to being called on his stupid behavior and it's wildly entertaining to watch him flounder.

"Uh huh." Josh takes another bit of his food, studying the man across from us. I dig into my breakfast, the food tasting all the better at the moment. "So, are you a friend of Donna's from school?"

"College, actually. We met in college."

I swear I can hear a record scratch as Josh finally realizes who this is. He turns to stare at me, his mouth practically dropping open. " _Him?_ This is the guy? This is…he's Dr. Freeride?!"

"The one and only," I answer with a snicker, though it's tinged with a little embarrassment. The years have given me the perspective I needed to realize just how awful the whole relationship was. In retrospect, it's crazy embarrassing to realize just what I let happen to myself.

Josh tries to contain himself for only a second before he laughs. He leans against me, collapsing under the weight of his mirth. "I'm not laughing at you," he gasps, putting his hand on my knee, "but this guy..." He can't finish the thought and instead bursts into another fit of laughter. I shake my head, trying to support his weight, and I feel a smile tugging at my lips. Honestly, I'd make fun of me at this point, too. Kyle's always been a bit of a tool—well, more than a bit—but he's being especially obnoxious today. Or, more likely, he was always like this, I just couldn't see it before. I was too close to it then.

"Excuse me," Kyle says, indignation in his voice and all over his face. "Dr. Freeride? What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

I don't know that I've ever seen Josh collect himself so quickly; his laughter dies on his lips, he straightens himself in his seat, and his eyes narrow a little. I've seen the look before. He usually reserves it for republicans when he's going in for the kill. Seems appropriate at the moment. While I may not need Josh to fight my battles for me, I don't feel like that's what he's doing right now. He's made vague threats toward Kyle over the years, though I never thought they'd run into each other. This promises to be too much fun to stop it.

"You're kidding, right?"

"Kidding about what?"

"You're confused about the Dr. Freeride thing?"

"Obviously."

"You're the loser who mooched off Donna for years, right?"

Kyle chokes a little, his face turning pink. "Excuse me? I did not, nor will I ever, _mooch_ off anyone."

Josh laughs again, though it's a lot less joyful this time. "How'd you pay for med school?"

Somehow, Kyle blanches beneath his flushed skin. "I don't really see how that's your business."

"It's just a question, _Doctor_."

"A very personal question," he sniffs.

"I paid," I interject, unable to help myself. "Get off your high horse, Kyle. I paid for you to go to school and all of us here know it."

He looks miffed for only a moment before clearing his throat. "Be that as it may, I didn't mooch off of you."

My mouth drops open in shock—talk about revisionist history. Josh snorts loudly, shaking his head in disbelief. "You're joking."

Kyle glances at me before returning his attention to Josh. Typical. "Donna _volunteered_ to help me out with tuition. She _offered_. That's not mooching _._ "

Josh leans forward conspiratorially on his elbows. "You're telling me a nineteen-year-old girl, all on her own, came up with the idea to drop out of college and work full time to put someone else through med school?"

"Well…of course."

"All on her own. You never said anything to her, an impressionable college sophomore, about how you'd lost your 'grant' and didn't know if you'd be able to afford to become a doctor. She knew, without you hinting at it a few dozen times, how you needed help to pay for school. You didn't mention, over and over again, how you'd been passed over for scholarships and financial aid only because you weren't a minority? You didn't make her feel guilty for taking care of her own education instead of yours because you were going to be a doctor and she didn't know what she was going to be yet? You didn't promise to return the favor as soon as you were done with school, only to dump her when you had your diploma?"

"I—no—it wasn't like that at all."

"Okay—how was it?"

"Uh…what?"

"If that's not how it happened, then what was it?"

"Oh." Kyle looks at me, and I can tell he's expecting or hoping that I'll jump in and correct Josh, let him know that Kyle was the innocent party, that everything was my idea. Even back then, though, I would have said we made the decision together. It's not like he actually forced me to quit school, but he certainly played his part. He did lay it on thick back then, starting not long after we began dating, going on about how expensive med school was, that his parents wouldn't help him, that the school wouldn't give him money for his education. I was reeled in by a flimsy, sad story. I was nineteen. I thought I was in love and I was an easy target. It turns out that it's really easy to crush someone's self-esteem at that age and make her think she doesn't deserve any better.

When he realizes I'm not at all interested in saving him, that I'm far more interested in my breakfast, he goes back to Josh, who somehow manages to look vaguely menacing while stuffing his face full of waffles. "It's no secret that med school is expensive."

"I'm not disputing this."

"Well…"

"Well, what?"

"So…"

"That's an expansive vocabulary you've got there, Doc," Josh says, rolling his eyes. "That C average really paid off."

Kyle narrows his eyes, glaring at me. I guess he somehow assumed that I left his grades out while I was telling Josh everything else. I can't help but snicker and roll my eyes, too. "She wasn't going anywhere. By the time I met her, she'd already declared three different majors. She didn't know what she was going to be."

"Because all college kids know what they want to be," I answer.

"So, I might have mentioned that while she was trying to figure it out, she was wasting money, and maybe suggested that it'd be better if she dropped out for a while. But I didn't force her to give all her money to me."

"You didn't hold a gun to my head, no," I answer, pushing away my mostly empty plate and stabbing a piece of chicken and waffle off of Josh's.

"I did you a favor," he hisses, losing his composure. "You would have wasted years and thousands of dollars at school, all before maybe graduating with a general studies degree. It's not like you needed to be educated to be a secretary."

I hate—I _hate_ —that I can feel tears prickle behind my eyes. His opinion shouldn't matter to me—and really, for the most part it doesn't—but that doesn't mean it doesn't bother me when someone who claimed to care about me at one point thinks so little of me.

Josh's jaw clenches, and his knuckles turn white as he grips his fork. "Who the hell do you think you are?"

"Look—"

"No, _you_ look. Since you're misinformed, Donna wasn't a secretary. She was never a secretary—not that there would have been anything wrong it if she was—but she was an assistant. Senior assistant to the Deputy Chief of Staff to the President of the United States. She worked her ass off. She had the President's ear and he trusted her opinions. Within a couple of years of working at the White House, she had job offers from half the congressmen and senators in town, not to mention all the offers from the private sector." I blink in surprise—I had no idea he knew how many people had asked me to defect. Not nearly as many as he's making it out to be, but I had my share of offers over the years. "I guess you've been living under a rock for the last year if you didn't see her as the spokesperson for both the Russell and Santos campaigns. And, just as a small point, she happens to be the Chief of Staff to the First Lady of the United States. But please—go on about how she was never going to do anything with her life."

Kyle stares at Josh bug-eyed for a few long moments. I don't know if was by accident or design, but Josh never mentioned that he was the one I worked for, which is probably for the best. Maybe he realized, at least on some level, that Kyle would latch onto that part and hear nothing else. "Well, you don't know Don like I do."

Josh looks at me in disbelief. "Seriously? This guy? What the hell did you see in him? He's a dick."

Despite the old insecurities that are trying to creep in, I can't help but snicker and snag another bit of his food—it's surprisingly good. "Well, you know I have a thing for older men." He smirks at me, his cheeks turning just the faintest shade of pink. "I don't know, Josh—I was only nineteen when I met him. I was young and dumb and inexperienced."

"Inexperienced?" Josh asks, his eyebrows reaching for his hairline. "I seem to remember something about you being sixteen with Freddie Briggs."

"What are you—Rain Man with my ex boyfriends?"

"I just like to scope out my competition."

"Well, I think you're safe from Freddie."

Kyle clears his throat—he's never been fond of being ignored.

"Who wants to assume that someone is going to take advantage of you? Especially someone who claims to love you? I never thought I'd fall for that sort of thing and by the time I realized what was happening, well, I guess I thought I deserved it."

Josh manages to look both sad and angry; Kyle says, "Hello. I'm still here."

Like he was invited. "Hey, Dr. Kyle," Josh says, not taking his eyes off me. "I have a joke you might be able to relate to."

Kyle looks wildly discombobulated by the turn in conversation. "Uh, all right."

"What do they call the guy who graduates at the bottom of his class in med school?"

His eyes narrow. "What?"

"Doctor."

I let out a truly undignified snort, clapping my hand over my mouth. Kyle looks outraged, but I know for a fact that it's not far off the mark. Kyle pushes himself across the table, getting in Josh's face. "I don't know—"

Josh, looking amused, pokes at Kyle's shoulder with one finger. "Watch it there, Doc. I guess you missed this part, too, but I'm actually Chief of Staff to the President, and that means we travel with secret service agents. I don't think they're too please with your threatening body language. Unless you'd like to be escorted out, I'd back off." A large hand clamps down on Kyle's shoulder, making him jump a foot. If I hadn't watched the house-sized agent appear from almost out of nowhere, I would have jumped, too.

"Everything all right here, Mr. Lyman?" Kyle tries to shrug off the agent's grip, but it's no use.

"Hey, Tyrone. Dr. Kyle here seems a little bent out of shape."

"Someone you know, Miss Moss?"

I'm startled by the question for a moment, but it occurs to me that all the agents know we're here for my family thing and, of course, that I grew up here. It absolutely makes sense that they'd assume I know people here.

"Well, yeah, but I didn't invite him to sit with me."

Kyle looks truly shocked, as if he can't believe I haven't convinced myself that I sought him out. "Donna, come on."

I shrug, stealing another bit of Josh's food while he gives me a look. "You sat down. I didn't ask you to."

"Is he bothering you?"

I shouldn't do it. I know I shouldn't do it. It's petty and childish and I should be above that by now. I work in the White House for crying out loud. I've helped get men elected President. I'm a bona fide adult.

Somehow, though…I just don't care.

"Yes."

Truthfully, I think Tyrone has been bored in Wisconsin. There's been no trouble and my family has been more than accommodating to the agents, and I think he needs some entertainment. I see a flash of a smile before he practically lifts Kyle by the scruff of his neck, somehow making it look like it was voluntary. "C'mon, buddy." Kyle opens his mouth to protest and I can see him flinch as Tyrone squeezes his shoulder. "You don't want to make a scene and embarrass Miss Moss, do you?" Before Kyle can respond, he's being casually escorted toward the door.

"Good to meet you, Doc," Josh calls out, making Kyle's head snap back toward us. I give him a little flutter of my fingers, smirking as he gets ushered out the door. It really is silly to behave like this but I'll be damned if it doesn't make me feel a little good. I know he won't bother coming back in, either—while he has no problem being the center of attention if someone else is making a scene, the last thing he wants to do is be the one _making_ the scene.

As Kyle disappears from view, I sigh and take another bit of Josh's food. "Really? After that face you made when I ordered it?"

"It's actually pretty good," I tell him, taking another bite before he playfully smacks at my hand. "Give me a break—I'm stress eating."

His face softens immediately, his hand coming to rest on my thigh, rubbing it gently. "He got to you?"

I shrug, grabbing my coffee cup to try to swallow the lump that's suddenly in my throat. "A little."

He shakes his head, pushing his plate a little toward me. "I'll kill him."

"Josh, while part of me appreciates the macho, alpha-male thing you're doing right now—"

"No—death is too kind. Maybe I can get his medical license revoked. I'd probably be doing the world a favor."

"Josh, you don't have to protect me."

He looks offended. "I know I don't _have_ to. I don't even feel like I am. That guy just pisses me off."

"This is the only time you've met him."

"Donna, he let you sit in a hospital after a car accident to get a beer—I was never gonna like the guy. I can't even imagine…"

I put my hand over his, squeezing his fingers. "I know."

"I would never do something like that."

"In fairness, most people wouldn't. But, you kind of jumped on a plane with only the clothes on your back to fly to Germany, so I think you win."

He smiles a little, leaning in to press his forehead against mine for a second. "What the hell did you see in him?"

I shrug and turn back to the table, playing with my silverware. "He wasn't always an ass. At least, he didn't seem like it. I mean, I was _young_ , Josh, and I was the only person I knew who couldn't settle on a major and because of that, everyone kind of made me feel like there was something wrong with me—my self-confidence wasn't all that high."

"I can't imagine you with low self-esteem."

"What's _that_ supposed to mean?"

He cringes, draping his arm over my shoulders. "That came out wrong—it's just…when I met you…I mean, you hired yourself. You got in your car, drove halfway across the country, walked into campaign headquarters and hired yourself. That doesn't strike me as someone who doesn't believe in herself. That's insanely ballsy. You didn't know what you were getting into, but you did it anyway."

I can't help but smile a little, my cheek quirking up against my will. "Yes, well…I don't have an explanation for that."

He chuckles a little and unravels his arm, taking a few bites of his food. "So, what did he do to you?"

His voice is so soft I almost miss the question. He doesn't look at me; he just focuses on his food. "He never hit me, if that's what you're asking. That wasn't his style. I don't know that I'd say he was emotionally abusive, either. Honestly, I didn't even realize what was happening because he was so subtle about it, and I guess I thought he was just teasing me—maybe he was sometimes. I guess you're easy to manipulate at that age. It's not like high school was horrible for me so it didn't come from there. I know I was insecure because I didn't feel like I had direction. It felt like everyone knew what they wanted to be and I still had no idea. I wanted to be everything. I wanted to learn everything. I didn't think I should know at that point but no one agreed with me. He picked up on it, though, and exploited it. I got so far in that, for a while, I really thought the best I could do was pay for someone else to go to school. Even though he said he'd help me once he was done, I felt like a loser—I was a college dropout working two jobs to pay for someone else to go to med school."

Josh's forehead wrinkles in sympathy. "Donna…"

I shrug, avoiding eye contact. "I don't know—describing the methods someone uses to break you down can be tough. It sounds silly because it wasn't ever anything big. It was everything and it was nothing. Toward the end, I was so embarrassed and ashamed of myself—not just for dropping out of school but I was finally starting to see what was happening. Josh…I didn't see my family for almost a year. I lived across town and I never saw them. I avoided their calls, ignored letters and emails…I wasn't hiding bruises, but I might as well have. I know they were worried about me. Who wouldn't be?

"The really sad part is that I felt so horrible when he dumped me. I was distraught. I'd been taking care of everything for him and got dumped anyway. He kicked me out of our apartment because, of course, it was in his name. No one wanted a nineteen-year-old's name on a lease. Well, at least that's what he told me. He'd never put a dime toward the place but it was his anyway. I didn't have my boyfriend, who I thought I loved and was supposed to love me, I didn't have a college education, and I didn't even have a home. I mean, my parents were happy to take me in, but they thought I'd really gone off the deep end when I left for New Hampshire a few weeks later."

"And you don't call that emotional abuse? Or psychological abuse? Donna, I may not be the best at diagnosing things but what he did to you…no one's supposed to do that."

"I know. I get that now. Even if he loved me at the beginning, he didn't love me for most of the relationship. It's just hard to believe someone who's supposed to care about you would treat you like that, so…you don't believe it. You believe what they're saying instead. I don't know why it's easier to believe the bad stuff about yourself than to think someone else is an asshole."

He takes my chin and turns my head gently until I'm facing him. "I love you, Donna. More every day. It kills me that you've ever thought anything bad about yourself. I think you're amazing."

I feel myself start to smile, my cheeks inexplicably heating up, and I try to turn my head in embarrassment. "Josh."

"I'm serious," he tells me, gently holding me in place. "You're funny and smart and strong, and the most beautiful woman to ever walk the planet. I wake up next to you every morning and wonder how I've gotten so lucky. If I ever make you feel like less than you are, dump my ass. I'm not kidding. Kick me to the curb. And have me checked for a brain injury because that's the only reason I could imagine doing that to you."

"Trying to win boyfriend of the year?" I tease, my heart fluttering.

"Working on it. How's it look?"

"Odds are definitely in your favor."

He stares at me for a few long moments, the attention a little unnerving. "God, I love you so much." My breath catches in my throat—it does just about every time he says it. He's been telling me for five months and I still haven't gotten used to it. "And even though I realize it couldn't possibly be true, you're absolutely perfect."

I grab the back of his neck and pull him toward me, disregarding the fact that we're very much in public and there is inevitably someone who knows my parents or grandparents and they'll rush to report that I was making out with my boyfriend in the diner, but I can't bring myself to care. As far as family scandals go, this would be quite tame, and I'm sure they'll manage to live with the fallout.

"I love you, too," I finally breathe, my lips still against his, and I can feel him smile.

"As much as you love chicken and waffles?"

I laugh a little, pressing another kiss to his lips. "I wouldn't go that far."

"They're pretty good, right?"

"Better than sex."

He jerks back, horrified and deeply affronted. "I beg your pardon?"

"I'm kidding, stud. Calm down."

"Are you sure?"

It's kind of cute that he's so sensitive about his prowess in bed considering I've had a fairly consistent response to him thus far. I roll my eyes playfully. "You're the best," I answer mechanically. "You're a redwood among mere sprouts. Your skills are unparalleled. You're the best I've ever had. Oh, baby, oh, baby."

Actually, that's all true, but it gets the desired reaction out of him. He reaches out and pokes at me. I squirm away and try not to laugh.

He reaches out and pushes my hair behind my ear, running his fingers gently down my cheek. "You sure you're okay?" he asks softly, his eyes full of concern.

I nod. "Yeah." I reach up and cover his hand with mine. "I'm more upset with how stupid I used to be than anything else."

"Because you know I find you invaluable, right? And so does most of the White House."

"I know." He looks at me dubiously. "Really. I'm a long way from that college dropout who put her life on hold for someone who didn't deserve it."

"I don't think anyone who really cares about you would ever ask or expect you to do that."

That's a slightly murky area, mostly because that's sort of what Josh did at one point. Though, I guess it was more that it never really occurred to him that I'd want to move beyond my station because everything ran so smoothly.

It's an unfair comparison, if nothing else because I willingly gave up everything outside of work at one point—the difference was that I felt like I was accomplishing something. If it ever came down to it, I'd do it again. I might not be willing to give up my relationship with Josh, but I'd certainly be willing to let just about everything else fall to the wayside if my country needed me.

"I want you to come first," he tells me, and I feel my eyebrow twitch involuntarily, my mouth breaking out into a broad smile. He grins back at me, his expression cocky. "That way, too. No, but seriously, like with the classes you're taking, I really want you to make those a priority."

"Ashamed to be dating a drop—"

"Don't even think it because you know it's not true. I just know how important finishing your degree is to you, and I don't want you to let anything get in your way."

I sigh and nod. Josh, Mrs. Santos, and maybe half a dozen other people are the only ones right now who know I've gone back to school. I haven't wanted to make a thing out of it, mostly in case I don't follow through, but Josh has been insanely supportive with the whole thing. It started with a half-baked idea just after the New Year when we'd had a little too much to drink, but a couple of days later, Josh had a list of admissions contacts for a bunch of nearby colleges. I made a few calls and found Georgetown to be very accommodating to my working circumstance, willing to accept all of my credits from the University of Wisconsin, what I could get credit for from my life campaigning and in the White House, and somehow I wound up being nearly a college senior. I'm only taking a couple of classes right now—somehow, I'm managing to squeeze them in between a million other real things, even physically getting to the campus twice a week. Actually, I have finals in a few weeks, so the trip home was definitely a calculated risk, but I think I'm in good shape. I'm already registered for the May-mester, which is going to be even harder, but Josh has been my own personal cheerleader with all of this, helping me study when he can, but mostly just being there for me when I get exhausted and frustrated with the whole thing.

"I am immeasurably proud of everything you're doing right now."

"You're laying it on awfully thick," I tell him, somehow shifting myself closer to him. "You sucking up for something?"

"I'm serious, Donna. Maybe it sounds condescending to say that I'm proud, but I love your determination. I love that you do whatever you set your mind to. I love that you pulled yourself out from under a terrible relationship and made a new path for yourself. As long as the college thing is what you want for yourself, I'm behind you a thousand percent."

"You're a ridiculous man, you know that? You're such a sap."

"I am," he confirms, looking completely unashamed. "I'm living with an insanely hot college chick and I need her to know that I appreciate her."

"There's the real Josh," I tease. He grumbles but doesn't look terribly offended. "I don't know if I've mentioned it lately but I appreciate your support, more than I can properly express…while clothed."

He bursts out laughing, throwing his head back. "Okay, I get it—enough with the schmaltz." He grabs his coffee and tosses it back, not even flinching when the cold liquid hits his tongue. "Let's get out of here."

"Anywhere particular you want to go?" I ask, sliding out of the booth after him, trying and failing to grab the check from him.

"There's someone I need to pay a visit."

"Oh, really? Who around here could you possibly want to see?"

He gives me a look over his should. "I think Tyrone's still spoiling for a fight, and Freddie Briggs needs to be taught a lesson."

* * *

I continue to be terrible at naming things but I want to explain where this one came from, mostly so that I'll actually remember the source instead of telling myself I'll remember and seeing something shiny and it being gone forever. Forward is actually the Wisconsin state motto, which I thought was terribly interesting and it wound up being completely appropriate. I considered Brat Fest or World Dairy Expo, neither of which have anything to do with the story but are entertaining as well as large events for the state of Wisconsin.

But hey, I finally typed something up, so go me. I figured everyone else in the world has done a Freeride story, so I should, too. No new ground here, folks. This was written last spring and I have no idea why I haven't gotten to it since then.


End file.
